


pinch me

by arloquent



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Drama, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Matchmaker Beverly Marsh, Multi, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Romance, Slow Burn, Teenage Drama, Teenage Losers Club (IT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-09 03:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20987813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arloquent/pseuds/arloquent
Summary: losers club // teenage years***Eddie was warm. That was something Richie knew for certain, now. He knew for certain that after falling asleep in your best friend’s lap while watching ridiculous programs on your couch and not quite remembering what they were about, you wouldn’t mind the numbness in your legs.Richie couldn’t feel anything from the waist down - but his stomach?Hide // RKS(not technically a song fic, but if they had a song this^ would definitely be it)





	1. the quarry

**Author's Note:**

> hello! true to the nature of a slow burn, this story doesn't get straight into the wild reddie stuff  
I want as much pining as I can get, okay?  
please excuse any trash writing or stuff like that  
but yeah, I've tried to use american spelling and stuff and keep it true to the late 80s/90s but if there are any mistakes then I apologise :)  
feel free to leave constructive criticism or other comments or ask questions  
thanks, and enjoy!!

i hate you more than i miss you,  
that's not true i'd hate to miss you  
(hide//rks)

The trees raced along beside Richie, eager to beat him on the final stretch to the quarry. Though it was quiet, Richie could make out the faint beginnings of rain over the metallic clunk of his bike as he bruised his icy skin with sticks and branches. The sky was so white, it almost resembled a cloud itself. A foggy, white expanse that fell apart and threw itself at Richie in defiance. If I am hurt, you must hurt too.  He normally loved the rain. It reminded him of sleeping in, or watching movies on the couch, Eddie’s feet in his lap - or stealing Eddie’s umbrella and being chased into the clubhouse. But for now, it pricked him with shards of malice and only grew heavier as he broke through the lush green onto the stone of the quarry cliff. Ben, Stan and Beverly weren’t far behind. They were an other worldly sort of pale. Red lips and ears and fingertips stood out even more against the blur of the trees, and Richie’s freckles were like mud splattered on his skin. The palms of his hands resembled the red of his swim shorts. 

After quickly discarding his bike, glasses and shirt, Richie’s feet collided with the cold stone. He made a break for the edge of the cliff in an effort to be in contact with the icy ground for as little time as possible. Nobody else had even set their bike up on their stands yet. Richie had thrown his to the ground and launched himself somewhat gracefully off the balls of his feet. He remained only within himself as he floated, nearing the jagged edge and gaining speed. Not once did he attach the movements to himself, but rode the temporary insanity he was clearly experiencing like the wind. No time to stop and question the weather, no time to turn around and ride home. Home. The word didn’t conjure up images of his house or his mother. No, home was here. With his friends, with these losers. Home was with Beverly, with Ben and with Stan. With Mike and Bill. Home was with Eddie. 

Before he knew it, Richie entrusted the sky with his weight, the same sky that took pieces of itself to strike Richie’s face. It had been a dismissive solution that had anticipation growing hot in Richie’s stomach. He couldn’t really complain - the warmth was kind of nice, and the wind through his hair made up for the ice that rushed down his windpipe. Richie had grown into his lankiness, and now his height brought with it the likeness of a bird. He flew around and rarely ceased, always moving or fidgeting in some way or another. 

All until he mimicked the sky and dropped to the waiting below. Until the water engulfed him, open arms. Then, he was completely still, if only for a moment.  
Where he could usually hear the rest of the losers clearly, Richie could only make out a foggy buzzing underneath the sound of the rain as he emerged from the surface of the water. He took full custody of the waves in his fingertips and waited for the others to join him.  
He thought for a second that they may not come. The buzz had faded, and the rain made it difficult to judge what exactly was happening above him. However, it was merely seconds before a flaming blur of red broke through the white sky as Beverly crashed into the water beside him, rising with a wide grin.

‘Getting a bit ahead of yourself, there, Richie?’ He returned the grin instantly.

‘Didn’t want any of you to chicken out. Reckon they’ll jump?’ Beverly’s lips twisted into a crooked pout.

‘I hope so. I whipped out my killer moves on Ben and told him to meet me at the bottom. As if he’d resis-’ Another silhouette broke through the sky and gravity claimed Ben, slamming his head under the water between them. The rain kept his unkempt hair glued to his forehead as he rose to face Bev.

‘Hi, Bev.’ He grinned, and Richie cocked an eyebrow. It was hard to tell, but he was sure Beverly blushed.

‘Ben. Nice of you to join us.’ Richie wore a shit-eating grin from behind Ben, and he could see Bev trying to ignore it. Her eyes were tied to the water and her arms were shivering at her sides.

‘I’m clearly the favourite, Bev. He practically landed on top of me.’ Bev scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning on one leg. Perching, like a bird. Sort of. Ben cleared his throat.

‘To be fair, I tripped on the way, so I wasn’t exactly falling of my own accord.’ Richie’s grin only expanded. 

‘Excuses.’  
Still avoiding eye contact with Richie, Bev drew her eyes to the rocky wall beside them, feigning deep thought.

‘Stan has to be next. He wouldn’t want to wait up there alone.’

‘I don’t know, someone else might have showed up by now,’ Ben reasoned, running his arms up his sides with sharp breaths.

‘Well, my money’s on Stan.’ A tall, slim figure progressed toward toward the jump.

‘Cough up, Bev,’ Richie teased. Though his lack of glasses had him squinting, and his quivering forced his vision to shake, the figure was unmistakable.

‘Here comes Bill.’ Bill’s wavering scream broke through the pattering of the rain and drew a giggle from Ben’s throat, who glanced back with a grin.

‘He probably tripped, too.’

‘Not as gracefully as you, haystack. I’m sure.’ Beverly’s ears perked at the nickname.

‘Don’t call him that, trashmouth.’

‘Don’t call me trashmouth.’ Bev dunked Richie below the rippling surface and laughed as he came back up to splash her, drawn brow and squinting even tighter than before. His lips formed a thin and now blue line in his face that turned up slightly at the corners. Bill, though oblivious to any motivations, approached them with flailing arms that pushed water mercilessly into their noses. It wasn’t long before Stan followed, eyes wide when affronted with the chill of the water. He stumbled to Bill’s side and could barely say the words, unaided by the crashing sounds of Richie almost drowning in an effort to splash Ben.

'It’s freezing.’ His arms crossed over his chest, quivering and pink.

‘S-s-splash R-richie. It’ll make you f-feel b-b-better.’ The cold did nothing to improve Bill’s stutter, but his smile, while shaky, was wide as he turned to face Stan.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Stan whispered, and so Richie had no time to brace himself for the arm that he brought out by his side, sweeping sheets of water into Richie’s face.  
Perhaps it would have gone on forever, the spluttering and laughing and the dwindling sensation in their limbs as they awaited Mike’s arrival: which was accompanied by a booming laugh as he dropped like a pin. Perhaps Bill, Mike and Stan wouldn’t have been lured away by a curious Ben, who hoped to pluck a stone from the smiling face of the cliff as a souvenir. 

Bev’s eyes seeked Richie’s. Craning her neck, grasping his shoulder. She quirked her brow and asked where Eddie was - where he had been the past few weeks. As if Richie knew. As if Richie hadn’t been wondering the same thing. As if he hadn’t been watching for another figure to appear atop that cliff since they arrived.

‘I don’t know,’ he spat. The rain was only a light dusting now, like someone had set the hose to mist. 

‘He’s not my boyfriend, I don’t know where he is all the time.’ The corner’s of Bev’s mouth turned down, though a glint of humour remained in her stare that Richie still refused to reciprocate.

‘I don’t think you get super powers when you start dating someone.’ 

‘Get the balls to ask Ben out and let me know.’ The glint of humour was gone, and Bev’s frown only deepened. She snapped her hands to her hips. A sudden movement, and it had Richie glancing up, finally making eye contact. Bev’s eyes were confused.

‘You seem mad.’ Richie softened. Why was he snapping at Bev? She had merely asked him a question. And he and Richie were especially close - he did normally have some idea of his whereabouts. His gaze flicked over to Stan and Bill, hovering over each other. Together.Smiling, inspecting a rock - or something lame like that. They smiled lamely at each other, and the glint in Stan’s eye was lame and dumb and-  
What was wrong with him? Richie had been rooting for Stan and Bill since the beginning of time - much to Stan's dismay. He willed the voice in his head to shut up and forced his eyes back to Bev.

‘No, I’m not. Sorry. I think the cold is seeping into my brain. I might be dying.’ Bev smiled at his change of tone and crossed her arms again, and the goosebumps had her hair standing on end.

‘Nice,’ Bev smirked and Richie feigned indignance with a sigh, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead. She rolled her eyes and Richie could tell she wanted to push him. Her fingers lifted slightly from her hips.

‘Goodbye, cruel Bev. Tell Eddie’s mom I love her.’  
Bev snorted and pushed him under one last time. His scream escaped in raging bubbles.

***

Eddie watched over the door mournfully, planning inane means of escape. 

A book sat peeled open and hugging his chest face down. Every time he reached for it, Eddie’s mind would wander off, not unlike a small child, and he would find his gaze traced on that door once again. Begging Richie or Bill or Bev or any of the losers to burst through it and save him. Needless to say, the book was cracked open with little substance on the left side. 

Eddie was sick. He knew this not because of the scratching he didn’t feel at the back of his throat, or the runny nose he didn’t have. He knew because of the vitamins and water on the table by the couch. He knew because his mother had hastily taken his temperature, never revealing the reading, but clicking her tongue at the sight of it. ‘Sorry, Eddie Bear,’ she had said, ‘you won’t be able to head out to the quarry today.’  
He knew because there he sat, ordered to bed rest for the day. By his mother. 

He picked at the corners of the book on his chest. There it sat, title unbeknownst and plot untouched by Eddie’s usually eager mind. He wondered if Richie enjoyed reading. Anything other than comic books, that is. Richie had bought him a book once for Christmas. It was cheap and he found it in a thrift store, apparently. But a note inside revealed he had bought it because ‘it looked saucy and I knew your mum would hate it. And then I saw who it was written by.’ The book claimed permanent residency on Eddie’s bedside. He had read it in a day. ‘Sandcastles’ by Henry Tozier. ‘We’re married. Henry Bowers and I got married and he wrote a saucy novel and I had no idea.’  
The note sat on Eddie’s bedside, too. Both had been frequented the past few weeks, ever since the conveniently timed diagnoses from his mother started. Ever since Eddie had missed out on three visits to the quarry, two to the cinema, several to the arcade, and two sleepovers. He spent at least one day a week home from school, usually fridays. Eddie was very concerned for whoever had all of these diseases that his mother had mentioned. Perhaps they would interview him on television soon, for the world's weakest immune system.

Because prior to Eddie’s supposed decline in health, he had stayed overnight at Richie’s house. Nothing unusual. Of course, he had to drag himself up the stairs the next morning when the sleep deprivation finally kicked in, but his mother’s eyes spoke, not her mouth, as they followed him up the stairs and into his room. His school diary was fanned out on his desk. He wouldn’t have noticed, save the gentle breeze that reached in through the window and combed through the pages. And it wouldn’t have set his teeth on edge remembering that his mother puts away Eddie’s laundry early every morning as she wakes him up. It wouldn’t have warranted a second thought let alone a racing heart, had Eddie not found that week’s page housed etchings of Richie’s names, surrounded by lopsided hearts and arrows alike. 

It was embarrassingly obvious. Really - it set a pink tinge to Eddie’s cheeks. He would have to scribble it out before Richie or another one of the losers saw it. As for his mother…  
Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. But she had been eerily quiet the recent weeks, and the diagnoses only increased with time.

Eddie pulled a face at the door. Nose still scrunched, he picked the corner of the book cover with his right hand and extended his left to draw the glass on the table up to his lips. Regrettably, he returned for the vitamins. If he wanted to convince his mother he was well enough for school the next day, vitamins would be taken.  
Eddie was looking forward to Monday for perhaps the first time in his life.


	2. keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finallylyl,, this took me a yonk and a half to write because it ended up being over double the past chapter and honestly it's probably shite but it's finished so please throw your standards out the window if you'd like to enjoy!  
also there's finally some actual reddie action even if it's kind of pathetic so yay!!

anywhere i go, anywhere you've been before  
i get a chance to say goodbye  
or hello, i mean  
(hide//rks)

Monday morning came and Eddie couldn’t retract the grin that followed him in through the school gates. Laces tied, hair combed, fingers dancing by his sides. The pale bricks built walls around him, and various forms of greenery slipped through the cracks of the yard. It smelt like soil, and for once Eddie didn’t turn up his nose. He wasn’t thinking of the disease in the air, or in the stains on the pavement. Instead, his eyes darted through the maze of surrounding people. They sought out Ben within moments as he wheeled his bike to the rusted rack.  
Stalking up behind him, Eddie could make out a slight muttering beneath Ben’s breath. His eyes raked over everything, merely resting on the kids that passed by. Everything slowed down as Eddie drew closer, caught up in the messy webs of Ben’s thoughts - until Eddie tapped him on the shoulder. 

‘Ben! Hi, are you okay?’ Ben’s head snapped up and something in his eyes fell away, his quiet sounds fading into nothing. A smile crept onto his face and his body slumped. The bike teetered away, held up only by his loose grip.

‘Eddie! Yeah, yeah I’m great! It’s good to see you!’ Scrambling to lock up his bike, Ben clapped a hand over Eddie’s back, before turning in the direction of his locker. His sandy hair was getting darker, and it had been a while since he’d cut it - Eddie could tell. Even so, the soft curls forming around his eyes suited him and maybe he was imagining it, but Ben seemed to hover a few inches taller than before. He’d seen him at school, sure, but it felt… different.

‘C'mon,’ Ben said, ‘let’s put our stuff away.’ 

***

The day had ticked away and the clock claimed the seconds leading up to lunch. Eddie had watched it religiously, an empty seat by his side and the insistent voice of Henry Bowers in his head.

‘Kaspbrak!’ It had been an uninspired nickname. Maybe his decline in concentration was contagious. 

‘Where’s your girlfriend?’ Slightly more advanced. Still rather pathetic - though if his goal had been to make Eddie miss the relentless fidgeting out of the corner of his eye even more, he had been successful. It was strange without the rhythmic foot tapping, or the black hair twisted around a finger - a pen: rapping on the desk.  
The creaking of the door had become quite familiar - and Eddie recognised it now, as he crossed into the cafeteria. At least from this point forward, he would not be alone in his pursuit of peace - or whatever it was called when one had a moment away from Bowers and his gang. 

Eddie crossed his legs when he sat down, forcing his red shorts to shimmy up his thigh, and then slide back down again as he brought his leg back over. The shorts didn’t quite match the nonchalant slouch he then attempted - though it didn’t last long. With nothing between his back and the floor, Eddie barely caught himself on the edge of the table as he fell and decidedly leaned forward instead. His feet crossed at the ankle.

‘You okay there, Eddie?’ Bev smirked. Clearing his throat, Eddie’s eyes refused to land on anything for longer than a few moments - though he still noticed the fly looming over Beverly, and the grain of rice in Ben’s hair. Mike had spinach in his teeth.

‘Spiffing, thanks. Do you guys, uh, know where Richie is today?’ No one seemed surprised at the question, and Eddie realised his shoulders had been bunched up in creases at his neck. Rolling them out, it was as though a dripping sound in the back of his mind switched off, just like that. The edge of Stan’s mouth lifted and he looked up from inspecting the back of the yoghurt packet in his hand.

‘He was an idiot and jumped in the quarry when it was raining yesterday.’

‘Oh.’

‘I might point out that so did the rest of us.’ Mike’s eyebrows were raised, but a smile broke out on his face. Eddie tried for one, too. It would be rude not to. Right? They were having fun, even without him - this was good. He tried not to picture Ben plucking strange stones from the quarry floor, or Stan rolling his eyes as Bev and Richie bickered. He tried not to imagine Bill laughing until his eyes were closed, or Mike pushing one of the loser’s shoulders as they splashed him. He thought about not thinking about it so much that he forgot to smile. Peeling his lips back, he displayed his teeth in what he hoped was the epitome of joy. Beverly pulled a face.

‘You okay, Eddie? You look like you’re about to bite.’  
Oh. Eddie’s eyes flickered up to the group, who watched with tilted heads.

‘Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m fine. What was the, um, story?’ He laughed airily and Stan continued, though with pause this time. Frowning.

‘At the quarry - we had to drag Richie out by his toes. Which were blue. And he refused to put his shirt back on. Didn’t want to, and I quote: “deprive Beverly any longer than necessary.''’ Eddie hoped no one noticed his ears and cheeks fading into red. Bill’s eyes lingered on Eddie’s face, and he thought that maybe it was too late for such wishes. He spoke hastily.

‘He’s s-s-sick. Took th-the day off.’

‘Oh,’ Eddie said. Again.

‘Where were you yesterday, by the way, Eddie?’ Mike posed the question thoughtfully, lightheartedly.

‘Yeah, are you okay?’ Ben added. ‘You’ve been MIA for a while now.’ Though Eddie could feel their attempt to hide it - like a blanket over a grave - he could see the edge to Ben’s posture, the twitch in Mike’s thumb, the tilt to Bev’s lips. 

‘Haven’t been feeling well, either.’ He coughed, leaning forward in his seat. He hoped that the look Bill was giving him was concern for his health, and not in fact the reason behind him standing up and making his way over to Eddie, who flinched at the hand on his shoulder. 

‘Hey, Eddie, we have L-lit together next, wanna h-head to my locker?’  
Dammit. The hand’s grip tightened. Eddie reached to fetch his things, unbothered by the untouched plate in front of him. 

‘Yeah, sure, I guess.’

***

‘S-so, what are we thinking, Eddie?’ Bill’s eyes were darting to keep up with their feet as they fought against the tide of students brushing by their arms. He gnawed at his bottom lip, arms crossed over his chest.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Richie.’ Bill spat the words out as Eddie tripped over them, hugging his books tighter to his chest. They were under his feet and yet somehow staring down at him, having him shuffle under the weight.

‘Ahh, that. Maybe I’ll send him a get well soon card.’  
It felt strange, falling under the accusation of someone’s eyes. Being convicted by a stare felt a pathetic sort of sentence - one without a proper fight. 

‘E-eddie.’ Perhaps the only fight was with himself, to keep his gaze trained on his toes, no matter how many times he caught himself trip. Bill slowed, though it was a decision he made in solitude.

‘What?’ he asked the tiled floor.

‘You kn-now what I’m talking about.You d-don’t exactly do a good job at h-hiding it, and even if you did - it w-wouldn’t matter. You can’t-t un-tell me.’ Eddie often wished he could, though not for a lack of trust. He wished he could un-tell himself, if there ever was such a thing. He wish it wasn’t something he had to tell at all.

‘I know.’

‘S-so what’s up?’ Bill carried himself with swaying steps, gaining speed once again.

‘Nothing, really. I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s stupid.’ Something different to gravity pulled the corners of Bill’s lips down. Eddie’s were already pointed at the floor.

‘If you s-say so. But Eddie - we’re worried about you. W-we all are. You’v-ve been acting str-range. If y-you change your mi-’ 

‘He’s never going to get better, is he?’ Eddie felt the words leap out of his chest and they crashed and twisted in his throat before spilling in an awful mess before them.

‘W-what do you mean?’

‘Everyone knows that the only way to beat a cold is to fight the symptoms and get as much sleep and nourishment as you can. Richie knows how to achieve none of those things.’  
They had stopped walking. Eddie hadn’t even noticed until the stream of his peers around him became a thing of great resistance, and he nearly toppled to the bacteria ridden floor. Bill’s shoulders jerked, aiming for expression that couldn’t be conveyed through his occupied hands.

‘I don’t know, m-maybe he’s…’

‘Bill. This is Richie we’re talking about.’ He sighed, shoulders slumping.

‘Maybe you’re r-right.’  
Suddenly, Eddie wasn't trying to catch Bill's eye, or feeling the boy's stare burning into his shoes. He could feel the past few weeks lost between them, and they pushed him outside of himself. Soon, he watched the pair from above. Still in the chaos. Always decisively impartial to the bustle around them. 

‘I… I’ve missed you guys.’ 

‘We have, too.’ The words were not drawn from Bill with resistance, but as though they were already on their way out, without falter. Eddie was thrown back into his body, a shaky endeavour.

‘Really?’ Eddie blinked, uncommitted to the question. He hadn’t even felt the word leave his mouth, but he heard it hanging in the air. He almost wanted to reach out and claim it back out of being.

‘Yeah, of course, Eddie. B-b-been wondering where you’ve been.’ Eddie had been wondering that lately, too.

‘I- I don’t know, I…’ A passerby robbed the words from his mouth and he watched them be stolen away into the nearest classroom. A shoulder bumped into his, though not by accident.

‘I-it’s okay, Eddie.’ And then Bill continued walking. Like the words were to follow them, or to be taken away and never seen again.

***

Eddie had to consider the possibility that he was completely stupid.

There he stood, knuckles striking the Tozier’s front door. It stung and had likely tinted his skin pink, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the glass panes to check, his reflection posing as a stranger. His twisted mouth sat somewhere on his forehead. Something shuffled behind the window, and the trees barely had time to sway before the door cracked open to reveal Maggie Tozier. She wore purple smudges beneath the fragments of her stare.  
Bringing her hand up to wave him in, Eddie’s reflection didn’t seem much clearer in her eyes. Something sloshed out of the bottle in her grip as she threw her head toward the house behind her, and Eddie cringed at the drops that met the floor. The drops that went on forgotten in a pointless existence as he heard the world outside fade away when the door glided shut. The emptiness of the house only drew attention to the emptiness of the bottles as they clinked against one another in a familiar song that Eddie knew all the words to. Richie knew the words so well, he was always a beat ahead of them.

The quiet stretched on for longer than he was accustomed to, without the loud presence of Richie waiting to greet him. The quiet stretched on for so long that Eddie felt obligated not to break it, creeping slowly through the hallways, eyes landing on his surroundings as though they had never met before. The layers of dust introduced themselves with fresh impressions. One particular row of pictures in the hallway snagged Eddie’s attention. He watched Richie grow up, trapped in glass and only getting more unruly with each frame.  
Everything, save the piano, had a coating of dust for Eddie to want to drag his index finger through, though the filth and lack of eagerness to subject himself to a sneezing fit kept his hand hovering a few centimetres in the space above.  
But upon reaching the sleek surface of the piano, Eddie felt it was cleaner than him. He barely noticed the white noise floating down the stairs that sounded vaguely like rain - but it couldn’t be, for dust danced in the sun that streamed in through the window. He lowered himself into the soft custody of the stool, red fabric stitched over it, exempt from loose threads or chafed holes alike. He sat and he sighed and something fell away from his shoulders. The lip of the piano had peeled back to reveal endless rows of teeth, greeting Eddie with a gap-toothed grin.

Seeking the center keys, he willed one of the simple songs they had taught in the elementary music lessons to show his hands what to do. Not even the notes to ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’ appeared familiar when he played the first line, but slowly Eddie riddled the tune from his fingertips. It was a slow and awkward dance - he wasn’t completely sure where to place his hands, and his wrists felt tight as he jumped between the keys. Upper lip curling and with a furrowed brow, Eddie felt his dance grow lethargic, a sleepy waltz at best. A sleepy waltz for a sleepy rendition of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' and Eddie had closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure why. Slowly, everything else fell away until all he could hear were the notes underneath him, carrying him far, far above himself.

He didn’t even notice the arms slowly reaching around him, a surface flat and warm and hard pressing to his back. It wasn’t the warm breath on his neck that snapped his eyes open, or the warmth in his stomach that he couldn’t explain, but the sudden note that rang through his ears.

‘Fuck! Richie.’ Richie grinned as Eddie’s eyes darted up to his own, and he ran a jagged stroke through his hair. Fleck of water joined the dust in the air and a few landed on Eddie’s face, relieving his burning skin. Dark lines of moisture and something else carved into Richie’s grey shirt that wrapped greedily around his torso, not unlike Eddie’s gaze. He forced his focus from Richie’s fresh and impossibly clean scent, and the implications of Richie in the shower that wouldn’t stop slamming into the forefront of his mind. No, he drew his line of sight back to the keys in front of him.

‘Hey, Eds. You didn’t tell me you were a musical prodigy.’ It didn’t last long. Eddie’s eyes were drawn up once again, though this time the nasally tinge to Richie’s teasing had Eddie notice the bags under his eyes, not in awful contrast to his mother’s. His nose had been rubbed red, and his quivering fingers didn’t still, even when they came to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. 

‘I have literally no idea what I’m doing. And don’t call me Eds,’ he whispered, and it felt like an afterthought. His neck craned over his shoulder, feigning an attempt for better eye contact - though his stare hovered somewhere above Richie’s head. The dark tangle of curls danced in the bottom of Eddie’s vision.

‘Here, shuffle over.’ Richie’s arms were no longer around Eddie, though his stomach still pressed into him. Since he had turned around, the pressure no longer resided in his back, but his side. Eddie almost didn’t stop himself from turning all the way, refusing to cower, and pressing Richie into the couch or the dining table or whatever. It didn’t matter. The world was full of almosts. Richie had always said that almosts didn’t count.

‘Make me.’ Eddie hadn’t known why he said it. But Richie mimicked the piano, mouth twisted into a grin.

‘Don’t tempt me. Come on.’  
Eddie shuffled over, hiding his own smile to the point where his cheeks ached, and then burned up when their thighs touched, pulling Richie’s shorts up at the side. Richie ran a hand over his thigh, pulling the fabric down over creamy skin and-

‘Here, I’ll help you.’ Eddie blinked.

‘So now you’re the musical prodigy?’ 

‘Yes.’ His voice wavered, but not with hesitation or the fogginess of teasing. Eddie frowned, relieved to no longer be resisting his mouth.

‘Says who?’

‘You. And my many adoring fans. But focus. Position your hand like this.’ Richie pulled Eddie’s fingers apart and almost seemed as though he would slot his own between them, but he was met with cool tones of white instead. His hands felt tense, like when he had played alone, and his hands barely elicited a sound.

‘My fingers don’t reach.’

‘Here, I’ll show you.’  
With the same gentle grace of carrying an injured bird from the side of the road, Richie plucked Eddie by the wrist and froze. The ice did not become him. He did not move in jolts and staggers, but ignored the quiver in his wrist, and his palms did not restrict themselves by parking at the centre. Why was he shaking? How sick could he possibly be? Eddie watched as the fingers overlapped, and layers of sound weaved into a song. An actual song, and a beautiful one at that.  
I didn’t even know hands could do that.  
Some notes were so quiet, only the suggestion of their presence was enough to set him on fire. He was on fire. Burning and red and bright, and giving Bev a run for her money.

‘You’re… you’re, um, good.’ Eddie choked out, not as eloquent as the instrument before him.

‘Good job.’ Richie was singed and deflated, as though he had been on fire, too.

‘Thanks. I took lessons for a bit - after we did it at school, I realised I liked it.’ Was it a chuckle or a cough that rose from his throat? 

‘Your turn.’ Eddie’s eyes widened. His fingers did, too - though he knew they would never reach the keys that Richie had grasped so effortlessly. His own beautiful sonnet of  
(who could guess) 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' came to a crashing halt after one miserable line.

‘I’m terrible.’ He decided then and there that he wanted to again feel whatever had pressed against his ribs as Richie threw his head back in a gleeful yell.

‘No, I’ve just been playing longer,’ a ghost of the laugh hung over his features. 

‘And you have really long fingers.’ Eddie’s hand was already tracing over Richie’s. His fingertip caught on the fold at his knuckle and it lingered, without regard for any audience. 

‘Huh.’ Richie murmured idly, and he did not pull his hand away. Instead, he turned it over. The folds carried over onto his palm, a map of himself. Eddie drew his arm back down before he did something stupid like trace the lines with his hands. Again.

‘You seem to be feeling better,’ he offered instead. Richie’s head snapped up as he spoke, glasses slipping along his still-pink nose. It didn’t have to move far, as he already loomed so high. His mouth hung open, and his hands were now glued to his sides with hunched shoulders. Almost curling over Eddie, Richie’s face was shrouded in shadows and something in them that only he could see. 

‘Better than this morning. I was-’

‘When will you be back? At school?’ He quirked his brow at the interruption, teasing. Unsure. 

‘Missed me, Eds?’  
A grunt. Eddie couldn’t manage much more.

‘I’m still contagious. My nose feels like a rock tied to my face.’ Richie sniffed, palming his nose and looking as though he might try to rip it off of his face. Eddie watched, and where he would usually be coiled away in disgust, he merely let his eyes rest over the boy. Until he, too, looked up - and there was nothing restful about that.

‘Speaking of, what are you doing here, Eds? You could catch it.’  
What was he doing here? All purpose had taken the quickest route out and Eddie began to wonder if he had been here for any real reason at all.  
Of course you are, dickwad.

‘I had to get out of the house,’ Richie’s brow furrowed, his lips pouted, ‘and I heard you were sick, so I’m here to help you get better.’

‘Here to help me-? Eds, you can’t fight a cold.’ Eddie ignored the use of the nickname. The delivery was slow and delayed. Like he was trying to catch up, but Eddie moved on as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

‘No, but you can show it where the door is.’ Richie didn’t stop frowning.

‘I see,’ he said, voice deep. Eddie plucked himself from the seat.

‘Come with me.’

***

Eddie was warm. That was something Richie knew for certain, now. He knew for certain that after falling asleep in your best friend’s lap while watching ridiculous programs on your couch and not quite remembering what they were about, you wouldn’t mind the numbness in your legs.  
Richie couldn’t feel anything from the waist down - but his stomach? That was in civil warfare. 

‘Eddie? I think I’m getting worse again. My stomach feels weird.’ Eddie feigned interest in the programs that now apparently consisted of some second-rate tom and jerry dynamic. Richie could see the reflection in his wide eyes, and his stomach ache only intensified as they flitted down to him.

‘Do we- do you need something to eat? That often messes with the, um, with your stomach. Or maybe you need water. You know, it’s really important to stay hydrated-’ Richie frowned, curling in on himself, his temple grazing the skin on Eddie's thigh. His stomach contracted.

‘I don’t really feel hungry.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat. When was the last time you ate?’ Richie almost didn't want to answer. He wasted as many seconds as he could pretending to think, though he knew well enough.

‘Sunday. Before the quarry.’ Expecting a frantic monologue to ensue, Richie froze at the silence. Shouldn't he be reluctantly shoved off of the couch and into the kitchen? Shouldn't he be hearing all about the importance of eating three meals a day? Richie froze, and Eddie didn't move, either. 

‘Eddie? Did you pass out?’ The pent up exhale had Eddie's chest expand, tilting Richie's head forward gently. Okay.

‘Richie. That’s… That would be why your stomach hurts. You absolute walnut.’ A grin broke out on his face, and the sensation was strange on his sleep ridden features.

‘Did you just call me a walnut?’ Though his eyes remained tightly shut, tendrils of Eddie’s smile slipped through, and Richie watched it from below.

‘I did. I’m not taking it back.’

‘Didn’t say I wanted you to.’ From his place in Eddie’s lap, he also saw the way his smile broke in half and his teeth poked through and Richie’s stomach was absolutely importunate. He grimaced. 

‘Alright, then, Eddie. Lead the way.’

***

Outside the white noise of the television, the Tozier household felt eerily quiet. The buzzing chatter refused to cross the border into the kitchen: afraid of the empty glass that lay in shards on the floor - of the empty house that was in shards of itself, too. The door must have opened sometime during the night and stolen Maggie away with it, for her bag and keys were not at rest on the table. Maggie must have had to hold her breath all the way to the car, because not a whisper could be heard from outside, either. A red light flashed from somewhere near the oven, and the tiles were nice against Richie’s burning skin.

‘What time is it?’ Eddie’s eyes were wide, out of place in a world of sleep.

‘I… I don’t know. I can’t see the clock.’ With long strides, Richie approached the door to the hallway. His fingers sought the switch on the wall and the light it summoned was brutal - enough to swell his eyes shut.

‘Fuck.’ Richie thought maybe Eddie had been rendered blind, too, but he heard the deliberate shuffle pass by in front of him. No matter how hard he tried, the skin around his eyes refused to tear itself apart.

‘What? What does it say? My eyes won’t open.’ The shuffling continued.

‘Fuckfuckshitfuckfuckshitfuck.’ Something clattered to the ground. Richie’s squinting eased, though now he lived in a world solely consisting of shapes and silhouettes.

‘Eddie?’

‘Richie, I have to go. It’s.. it’s four. In the morning. I have school tomorrow. Mom will be worried sick, she’s probably been calling - would your mom have answered the phone? I need to… Do you have a head torch? I might need a head torch. Or maybe a-’ Through his slowly parting eyelids, Richie could see the outstretched palms before him, the bent knees, taxing posture. He had heard the heavy breathing since he turned the light on.

‘Eddie, deep breaths. What the fuck are you talking about? A head torch?’ Eddie didn’t move for a moment. His angry hands slumped by his side.

‘So I can ride my bike.’

‘Fuck that. I’m driving you.’ Richie was already fetching his coat - or rather, a stray jacket he borrowed from a chair nearby. Most likely leopard print.

‘You’re sick.’ Another chair offered up its sweater, waiting patiently and holding it with arms held high.

‘And what about my bike?’ Richie lost his grip on his eyes and they rolled into the back of his head and out again. His arms were in both sleeves, now, and his keys were in hand.

‘It’s not going to grow legs - though I would love to see that. Point is, I’m driving you. Get in the car and let’s go.’

***

The light that passed through the window in jagged temperament was golden, though it didn't flow in rays from the sun. Loose gravel on the road hushed in an effort to subdue the traffic, should it try to wake anyone. The streetlights by the sidewalk threw strong-armed shadows into places that Eddie hadn't even noticed were carved, and Richie's jawline made a dark line along his neck.

‘What did you mean?’ The words were thrown at Eddie with the next round of light tossed through the window.

‘I… What?’ Somewhere, in the seat beside him: a sigh.

‘What did you mean? Before, when you said you had to get out of the house? Is it… is it your mom?’ Eddie could see he was fighting for Richie’s attention without even meaning to. If only eyes could hear, he would tell Richie’s to focus on the fucking road before we crash and both die and- The tires leapt up over the curb. It was enough for Richie to turn his neck.

‘Richie, I don’t…’ Shadows were caressing Richie's face, dancing over his features as though they couldn’t stay away. His arms rested atop the steering wheel and his head had finally angled itself straight ahead. 

‘It’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it.’ The words were forced out of his throat with the shaft of air that tried to disguise itself as some form of a laugh. His lips remained agape as Eddie watched the golden shapes pass from Richie’s right ear to his left as they turned a corner. Richie’s stuttered sounds became regular and it was clear they weren’t going to form into words any time soon.

‘Richie.’ Eddie said his name like it had sat under his tongue all his life.

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s my mom.’ Richie frowned, though it was gradual. His brow had already been drawn in the middle, and his fingers had already been gripping the steering wheel with tight commitment.

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ Maybe the steering wheel was squeezing his throat right back. The words barely escaped.

‘Not really, but… Thank you.’  
Richie mouth was bunched into a tight pout. It said ‘okay’, but there is nothing okay about a tongue at war with its face.


End file.
